


reduce tension, increase affection

by silentlypunk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, ennoshita n kenma appear, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentlypunk/pseuds/silentlypunk
Summary: “I knew you were stressed,” he says. Akaashi feels mildly accused, but he knows that it’s true, and he can’t really feel mad when Bokuto is looking at him with so much concern.-Akaashi is exhausted from Life and Bokuto shoos the stress away.





	reduce tension, increase affection

Students lethargically spill out of the lecture hall, going off in groups and pairs. Akaashi drags himself out after them, squinting in the blinding orange sunlight; he’s usually starving at this point and looking forward to dinner in an hour or so, but today the thought of an onigiri makes him want to retch. His shoulders are slumped downwards, pulled down by the heavy weight of his book bag; he feels like a reverse Atlas.

“I’m going back to the dorm.” Ennoshita appears next to him, similarly weighed down with a heavy tote bag. There are bruised shadows under his eyes. “Do we have chocolate in the fridge? Did you fall asleep watching the documentary? I think half the class did.”

“Half the class obviously worked hard for the tests.” Akaashi rummages in his bag for a matcha chocolate bar, prepared to split it with Ennoshita, but he hesitates and doesn’t bring it out; he wants it for himself, wants to savour the cocoa and the condensed matcha flavour. What Ennoshita doesn’t know won’t kill him. “Why did we have to watch a documentary right after a 2-hour paper. Very well made, but very boring. And the lecture hall stank. Why.”

“Back to the dorm,” Kenma mutters, materialising next to them, pulling a literal suitcase behind him, not even bothering to try to fit the heavy books into a bag. “Do nothing for the night. Sleep at a normal time.”

As they turn around and begin their weary trek back to the dorm building, a loud commotion starts up behind them. Ennoshita startles at the noise, reflexively turning around.

“Don’t look,” Akaashi says. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I refuse to care.”

Ennoshita hesitates, then says, “Well, you’re gonna have to care, because your boyfriend is sprinting towards us at full speed.”

Akaashi whirls around, aghast. “ _Bokuto-san_?”

Sure enough, there he is, familiar duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a bouquet trailing a few scant petals behind him. Getting closer by the second.

Akaashi barely has time to think _Good, he can hold my bag for me,_ when all of a sudden Bokuto is upon them, snatching Akaashi’s book bag out of his arms and replacing it with the bouquet, giving Ennoshita and Kenma a quick salute, and grabbing Akaashi’s wrist before tugging him the way he came, urgent and wordless.

Left with no real choice, Akaashi shoots a look at Ennoshita and Kenma before letting himself get dragged off.

They run for at least three minutes before Akaashi has to pull Bokuto to a stop, his tired muscles screaming at him from all over his body.

“Where are we going,” he wheezes out, annoyed. “I’m not in the mood for this, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto skids to a halt and looks at him. The bastard is barely even winded. “Don’t want to run?” he asks. “That’s fine. Give me the flowers.”

Akaashi hands him the bouquet (they were roses, bright red and fragrant and beautiful) and Bokuto clamps his teeth around the ribbons, handing the book bag back to Akaashi.

Then he scoops Akaashi up in his arms, bridal-style, drops the bouquet into his lap on top of the bag, then _resumes running_ , duffel bag bouncing behind him.

People stare as they sprint past, and Akaashi is not surprised. What a weird picture they must make — Akaashi can see their reflection in the shop windows across the street, illuminated by the pre-sunset. Being carried through the streets in Bokuto’s arms, steady footsteps thudding under them, a bunch of exquisite roses on top of his books, _all we’re missing is a white veil and I’d be ready to walk into a cathedral_ , Akaashi thinks hysterically, heart skipping a beat.

They reach the bottom of a small hill and Bokuto makes his way up to the summit, before placing Akaashi steady on his feet and immediately collapsing on the ground, panting and gulping in air dramatically.

The hill isn’t very tall, but it’s tall enough for Akaashi to stare out at the sprawl of metropolitan structure under them, weaving streets and bustling crowds; he can see his university campus and trace the path that they came through. In the distance, the sun is a ball of violent fire, sinking grandly under distant mountains, painting the sky in warm oranges and dark reds, wispy clouds drifting off like an afterthought.

Akaashi knows immediately that this is one of those views that cannot be captured by camera, regardless of the level of skill and technology; this, in a snapshot, is nature’s finest.

“Wow,” he breathes out, trying to etch the view into his memory forever.

Despite being flat on his back and still panting, Bokuto manages to breathe out a “…didn’t…want to miss…sunset, short time frame…”

“It’s good,” Akaashi manages, slightly giddy. “It’s a great view, this is beautiful, I love it —”

He twists around to look at Bokuto, who has managed to wrench himself into a sitting position; Bokuto grins, the familiar expression spreading across his face, and Akaashi can feel warmth pool in his chest. He goes to sit down next to Bokuto, shrugging off his heavy book bag. Despite the contentment flowing through his body, the deep ache in his shoulders still settles painfully into his bones, and he grimaces, an action that does not go unnoticed. “What’s in your duffel?”

“Things,” Bokuto says, vaguely. He pulls open the zipper and pulls out a picnic blanket. “We’re gonna cuddle now.”

The way he says it sounds like a command. Akaashi watches as Bokuto spreads the blanket over the grass, settles on it, then pats the space next to him, staring at Akaashi meaningfully.

The diminishing light from the sunset casts a nice ambience on the hill, and some of the tension leaves Akaashi’s shoulders when Bokuto pulls him into his chest, firm and comforting. He takes a rose from the bouquet and fingers it absentmindedly.

“I don’t even know if you like roses,” Bokuto admits, soft breaths puffing against Akaashi’s cheek. “I just think they look pretty. And they’re a classic, so…”

The city lights begin to pop up, dots of brightness in a maze of shadows, nighttime Tokyo coming to life; at the same time, Bokuto brings up his hands to push at all the tense spots around Akaashi’s neck, forcing a relieved hiss from his mouth.

“It’s fine,” Akaashi replies, tracing the soft petals gently. He turns his head around and kisses Bokuto on the nose, because that’s the only place he can reach comfortably. “Roses are good. But it still doesn’t explain the sudden surprise.”

A wrinkle creases between Bokuto’s eyebrows, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Well, the surprise isn’t over yet.” He reaches over to the duffel and pulls out a small cardboard box; Akaashi recognises it from a bespoke cupcake shop, one that they used to often pass by to and from high-school, one that he recalls Shirofuku drooling over because the cupcakes looked beautiful, tasted wonderful, and were unfairly expensive. Bokuto grins, obviously self-satisfied. “Voila!”

He’s passed a matcha cupcake — his favourite type — and then Bokuto brings out a cookie-n-cream cupcake for himself, knocking their cakes together in a mock toast. “Cheers!”

The sun is completely down now, replaced by a dusky night sky, specks of stars blinking in the darkness. The moon is but a slim crescent. The whole scene is rather beautiful, and Akaashi can feel his mind go blank, calmed by Bokuto’s warm presence next to him and the exquisite cupcake and the small but glamorous roses next to him and…

“I still want to know why,” Akaashi says between licking the remainders of chocolate cream off his fingers. “Why, Koutarou? Why all these nice things today?”

Bokuto turns his body to face him, head cocked to one side. “I knew you were stressed,” he says. Akaashi feels mildly accused, but he knows that it’s true, and he can’t really feel mad when Bokuto is looking at him with so much concern. “Stressed out and exhausted. Both. I knew it. It’s our anniversary today, Keiji.”

_…Holy shit. It is._

He hadn’t even realised. And he was the one who kept notes on important dates — from tiny things like their first interaction (7th April) to the day they came out to their friends (23rd August). “I’m sorry,” Akaashi says, flushing with shame and gripping the bouquet tight because how could he forget? “I —” “No, don’t be,” Bokuto interrupts, grabbing Akaashi’s shoulders, steadying him with his familiar firm grip. “Isn’t this nice? I get to do something for you! After I forgot last year.”

So you did, Akaashi thinks, but there’s no real heat behind it; after their first year of excitement — where Akaashi had took him out for a picnic and Bokuto had bought him a very nice watch — he knew it was going happen, he knew Bokuto, it was bound to happen. And it did. He’d been mildly annoyed, but nowhere near as annoyed as he’d pretended to be.

There had been some sadistic joy in watching Bokuto grovel for forgiveness in front of his facade of disappointment.

Firmly drawing him back into the present moment, Bokuto slides his hands down to interlock around Akaashi’s waist and leans in to kiss him, soft and sweet, tasting like vanilla cream and white chocolate. The kind of kiss that makes Akaashi feel like he’s 15 again, watching a boy fly through the stadium air like a shooting star, the perfect embodiment of destructive power and glowing beauty. All the remaining nervous energy and tension in him flows out of his body and he melts into the kiss like a marshmallow under heat before they pull apart.

“Happy anniversary,” Akaashi whispers, and places his hand above Bokuto’s heart before twisting around to stare at the sunset again. “Look how far we’ve come.”

Bokuto stands next to him, quiet in these rare moments of reflection, but Akaashi knows he’s smiling. “Yeah,” he agrees, lacing their fingers together. He hesitates, then adds in a rush: “God, Keiji, I’ll say it again and again, you look good wearing the sunset, but it’s nothing compared to you under the starlight.”

Akaashi blushes, embarrassed, and turns his gaze up to the sky. “And I’ll say back, again and again — you look even better.”

A quick laugh stutters out of Bokuto’s throat. “That’s not allowed! You cheat.”

Akaashi hums, presses closer to Bokuto’s side, and squeezes their fingers tightly together, a silent message more expressive than words.

_(I love you, Koutarou.)_

And when Bokuto squeezes back, Akaashi lets himself smile at the firm reassurance.

_(Love you too, Keiji.)_

**Author's Note:**

> look, i'm tired from the new year, and i needed them to do cute things so i could feel better. 
> 
> that aside, i took a leap of faith today and started a fan account on instagram (don't like how tumblr doesn't have dates + twitter's tag system is trash. i've had a big long think about this) @silentlypunk_ so i'd really appreciate if y'all could check it out; it will mainly be art and short pieces of writing. if you're not interested that's fine too, i'm just glad to be able to contribute to fandoms after years of looking from the sidelines.
> 
> do leave comments and kudos as you see fit, and thank you for reading!


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